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So – escort. Not the car, nah. I mean the *ladies*. Or dudes, whatever. Paid company, right? You’re lonely. Or bored. They roll up – BAM. Like Llewelyn Moss. Dodgin’ trouble. But with heels. And lipstick. I saw this gal once. In Reno. Escort gig. Swear she had eyes – like a hawk. Could spot a creep. From a mile off. Made me laugh. “Call it, friendo!” I yelled. She didn’t get it. Pissed me off – c’mon, watch the damn movie!

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So, I’m like, “Alright, mate, I’ll help ya out.” I left my masterpiece half-finished and dashed over. I swear, I ran faster than a kid chasing an ice cream truck. I got to Main Street, and there he was, lookin’ like a lost puppy. I couldn’t help but laugh. “You really need to get a key holder, mate!”

Teenager vanishes from busy area as police launch frantic search